Side By Side
by the ticking clock
Summary: Their friendship is the stuff of legends...


Their friendship had started with insults.

Any member of the fellowship can attest to the verbal spears the two threw at each other their first few days on the road. It got to the point where Gandalf was forced to separate them and Aragorn pulled Legolas aside, hissing furiously in Sindirian.

No one can quite remember when those bitter words turned into playful banter.

* * *

Aragorn draws level with his friends. "We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death," He says, "not while we have strength left." Sheathing his knife and tightening the bracers on his arms, he tosses the words quickly at them while he works. "we travel light.," his smile is ferocious. "Let's hunt some orc."

He runs off before any of them can say anything.

Gimli looks at Legolas, and laughs.

And when Legolas returns the grin with a challenging smirk and bounds lightly after Aragorn, Gimli follows, muttering under his breath about the superiority of elves.

* * *

They are surrounded by flashing hooves and the hot, warm breath of horses. Trapped in a sea of bodies and snorting animals, Gimli, Legolas and Aragorn press close together.

Legolas and Aragorn exchange glances.

Gimli is already feeling intimidated, so he lashes out in the only way he knows how. "Give me your name, horse-master. And I shall give you mine."

He tenses when the man dismounts from his horse and marches over to him, face twisting into an ugly snarl beneath his helmet.

Aragorn's hand comes down on Gimli's shoulder.

"I would cut off your head, dwarf," the horse-master says, spitting the words, "if it stood a little higher from the ground."

Legolas lets out a wordless growl and Gimli hears the familiar twang of a bow being strung, and suddenly an arrow is pointing straight at the man's forehead. "You would die before your stroke fell!"

Spears flip up into hands almost too fast for Gimli to follow. A horse snorts nervously.

Aragorn lowers Legolas's bow arm with a warning glare, and turns away to negotiate.

Legolas catches Gimli's eye for a fraction of a second, but his expression is unreadable. He nods, once, curtly.

Gimli isn't quite sure how to reply to that.

* * *

"You're not going to fall off you know."

Gimli growls a reply and tightens his arms around the elf's waist as the horse shifts his weight and tosses his head. Legolas strokes it's neck and croons soothingly in Elvish.

"I promise, you will not fall, dwarf." The elf says after Gimli begins to breathe more rapidly.

The dwarf mutters something into his beard as Legolas urges the horse forward, neglecting to mention all the other times he had fallen off, the elf had always been there to help him back up.

* * *

They find Merry and Pippin smoking and drunk on their way to Isengard. Gimli exclaims something and Gandalf mutters, "Hobbits," under his breath while Aragorn laughs.

There is a gentle pressure against Legolas's back as the Gimli leans forward. "We ran for days thinking they were dead and haven't had anything to eat, and we find them good as new feasting and _smoking?"_

Legolas shakes his head, but smiles, so only the dwarf can see him.

* * *

Sitting around the fire with a remarkably alive Merry and Pippin, listening to the Hobbits chattering on about Ents and Orcs and horses, Legolas notices that Gimli is shivering. The dwarf has his arms crossed over his chest, as if this while hide the tremors.

Shrugging his cloak off his shoulders, Legolas tosses it at the dwarf.

Later that night, when the cloak is returned to Legolas's bedroll, Aragorn throws back his head and laughs, and says that there might just be hope for dwarves and elves after all.

* * *

The night after Aragon falls, Gimli finds Legolas sitting on top of one of Helm's Deep's pillars, knees pulled up into his chest, chin resting on top of them. He looks like a gargoyle, or some other creature made of stone.

The dwarf doesn't say anything. He simply walks so he is staring in the same direction of the elf. Legolas ignores him.

"You did the right thing, lad," Gimli finally says, "Coming back with Theoden."

The elf sighs, long and deep. "Well," He whispers tightly, and turns his head just enough so Gimli can see the silver gleam of tears on his cheeks. "Someone has to kill more orcs than you, dwarf."

* * *

Their counting game had been something that could pull them out of their horrifying reality and bring some relief and adventure into the endless carnage of war.

But standing now on the Cosaire boats, staring out into burning city and the tarnished land, Gimli does not see any adventure or joy.

"We are going to die," Legolas whispers, just loud enough for the dwarf, standing at his side, to hear.

Gimli looks up at him. The elf is standing tall and straight, hands methodically stroking his bow, eyes staring ahead, and occasionally flicking to where Aragorn stood at the bow of the ship. But there was something very private about the way he had whispered those words to Gimli. As if they were a secret.

"Aye," Gimli breathes, gruffly, "we are." He clears his throat. "First to fifty wins?" _If we live that long. _

But when Legolas throws back his head and laughs, the tinkling laugh of the elves, Gimli thinks for just a second that maybe they aren't the disloyal demons his father told him about.

* * *

It is like the calm before the storm. They stand together in a rough circle, surrounded, choking on the dust and smoke of Mordor. Legolas takes a deep, long breath and stills his mind, narrowing his focus so he sees only a see of enemies. His fingers twitch around his bow.

"Never thought I'd die fighting side by side with an elf," Gimli mutters, pulling Legolas out of his stupor.

The elf looks down at him, smiles. The words feel heavy and yet so natural on his tongue as he says, "what about side by side with a friend?"

The dwarf looks at him for an immeasurable amount of time, evaluates him. "Aye," he agrees, and then clears his throat. "I could do that."

* * *

Gimli backs away from Aragorn as Gandalf places the crown on his head, watches as Aragorn and the elf walk up to each other, clasp shoulders, whisper something to soft for anyone else to hear.

And then Aragorn sees Arwen and they are holding each other and kissing, and the elves are laughing.

Gimli steps up behind Legolas. The elf is staring at Aragorn.

"So what now?"

Legolas turns and gives him a playful smile. "I've always wanted to travel."

* * *

They visit forests and Glittering Caves. They climb mountains and swim rivers. They travel the world together.

Lying on the grass in the dark shadows of Mirkwood, Legolas muses, "How in the world did I get stuck with _you?"_

And Gimli laughs, laughs until he cries, because he honestly doesn't know and it is very good question.

* * *

Years after the War of the Ring, there is still danger in Middle Earth.

"Why is it always us?" Gimli howls as he cuts down a warg and ducks as one of Legolas's arrows fly over his head, striking another in the eye.

Legolas grins, because he knows that despite the injuries and the pain, that Gimli wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

They visit Aragorn occasionally, even have a few impromptu quests and adventures of their own-the Three Hunters back together again.

"I'm surprised no one has captured or tortured us yet," Aragorn remarks to Legolas over the fire one night.

The elf shoots him a dark look. "Don't start, Aragorn. I'm sure something will happen soon and Gimli and I will have to come drag your unconscious body back to Arwen in a race against death."

Gimli chuckles beside him, and elbows Legolas in the ribs. "It wouldn't be the first time, now would it?"

* * *

Legolas teaches Gimli Elvish, all the dialects, during their travels through the woodland realm.

Gimli teaches Legolas dwarvish when they visit the Glittering Caves.

The result is the two friends having three languages to curse and argue in, much to the frustration of their companions.

But when Legolas whispers the guttural tongue of the dwarves, the words sounding odd in his light, musical voice, and Gimli replies in rough Sindirian, they are expressing everything behind their friendship.

The idea that two creatures from two very separate worlds, can ultimately come to save and understand each other

* * *

The bandage stands out stark and white against the ginger of Gimli's hair, and Legolas sighs, reaching out to adjust the blankets around his friend. "Stupid dwarf," he whispers as Gimli stirs.

The dwarf's beady eyes flicker open, clouded with pain and a film of tears. "You're still here?" the words are meant to tease, and Legolas knows this.

"Still here," the elf says, wetting another cloth and draping it over Gimli's fever-heated forehead. "I killed more orcs than you today...and I know how it feels to be the loser."

Gimli laughs, a little. "Not bad for a pointy-eared elvish princeling."

"Go back to sleep," Legolas whispers in dwarvish, the language rough and choppy on his tongue. Learning it had become a necessity in their friendship, though, and Gimli seems to find some comfort in the familiar language, because he closes his eyes again. "You can beat me tomorrow."

* * *

When Legolas and Gimli stumble into Aragorn's throne room, covered in dirt and dust from traveling, and sporting several bloodstained tunics, the King stares at them for a long moment. "What trouble did you two get into this time?" He sighs.

Legolas grins. "When did you get gray in your beard, Estel?"

Aragorn snarls out a playful taunt and then suddenly they are embracing, all three of them, slapping backs and laughing.

And they pretend that the wetness on their cheeks is sweat and not saltwater.

* * *

Gimli is the first person Legolas tells of the sea-longing.

At first the dwarf isn't sure what to say. The elf kneels in front of him, head in his hands, shoulders shaking with silent, repressed sobs.

"I can't leave them, Gimli," He whispers. "Not yet. But it _hurts."_

Gimli puts a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We won't go anywhere until you're ready," he says.

And when Legolas raises his tear-stained face to look at him, Gimli knows that the use of the plural had not escaped him."Hannon le, mellon nin." He whispers, and Gimli does not even need to know Elvish to know that his friend is saying thank you.

* * *

Long years pass, decades of peace and laughter and travels, and Legolas slowly begins to realize that this stubborn, hard-headed dwarf had somehow fought his way into Legolas's heart and was holding fast, slowly replacing the best friend position that Estel had occupied for so long.

There is a bond between them that he had never experienced with Aragorn. He had known the man almost his whole life, but there is something different with Gimli. Something rich and playful and fun that Legolas has never found anywhere else.

There is grey in Gimli's beard now, and Legolas knows he is old, even among the standards of his own race. He helps his friend on and off their horses now, and sometimes with simpler tasks.

But when Gimli picks up his axe and they spar, Legolas catches glimpses of the cocky dwarf who beat him by one dead orc in the battle for Helm's Deep so many years ago.

* * *

After Aragorn's death, Gimli finds Legolas standing on the shore of the sea, staring out into the horizon with his eyes closed, lips slightly parted as if he is listening to a beautiful, half-forgotten song. There are tears on the elf's cheeks, and he is trembling ever so slightly, light frame shaking like a tattered leaf in the wind, and although physically Legolas does not look any older than the first time they crossed path s at the Council of Elrond, Gimli can see a weight on the elf's shoulders now, a weariness that had not been there before.

He walks up to his friend slowly, careful not to disturb him lest he wanted to be left alone. In the past few days since Aragorn's death the elf had become distant and detached, more so than before, and Gimli recognized that his friend was grieving.

Legolas's eyes are still closed, but he half turns his head as Gimli approaches. "The gulls scream for me, Gimli," he whispers in a voice so soft and so ancient that the dwarf shivers. "The sea is calling me home."

Gimli's throat is suddenly tight with tears. "Do you want to go home, laddie?" He asks. The nickname doesn't really suit Legolas, he knows, the elf _is _older than him, but the endearment falls from his lips anyway, as it always has. Legolas has always seemed to like it, anyway.

The elf swallows hard, tilts his head back and clenches his eyes shut. His hands curl into fists at his sides. "I want you to come with me," He whispers, fiercely.

Gimli stares at him for a long time, watches him struggle with himself. "Are you sure?" He asks, finally.

The elf whirls to face him, chest heaving, eyes wild. "I have already lost one brother, Gimli," his voice is a low growl. "I cannot lose another."

The dwarf swallows hard, touched by his friend's words. He clears his throat gruffly. "Well then," he says, "I think it's time to build a boat."

And so they do.

* * *

Gimli is standing at the side railing of the boat, standing on his toes, hands braced against the railing so he can just peer over the side.

Legolas steps up behind his friend and bends down, lips close to his ear. "Should I describe it to you?" the elf breathes in a moment of playful youth, "or would you like me to find you a box?"

Just as Legolas intends, the dwarf bursts out laughing, and suddenly the screaming of the gulls circling overhead doesn't hurt quite as much.

* * *

They step out onto the sandy shores of Valinor, and have not taken two steps when an elf clothed in white blocks their path.

"The dwarf may not enter," He says.

Gimli growls low in his throat, and Legolas puts a hand on his old friend's shoulder, gently. "He will come," the archer's voice leaves no room for argument. "We have people to see."

Without another word, Legolas puts a hand under Gimli's elbow, propelling him forward around the guard and marching him towards the faint line of laughing elves and family members waiting for them.

No one tried to stop them, although Legolas caught several hissing whispers of surprise that a dwarf was walking across the elven shores. Gimli snarls back a reply in Sindirian, and Legolas grins. "Nicely played," he whispers in dwarvish.

Gimli grunted a reply. "I'd like to see that prissy elf try and stop me."

The elf laughs at the idea of Gimli facing down the guardian of Valinor. He had never doubted that his friend would wander these halls with him, no matter who tried to stop them.

After all, they are Legolas and Gimli.

Their friendship is the stuff of legends.


End file.
